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Monday, September 21, 2015 

But you fuck one pig...

Whenever a sex scandal turns up, you tend to get two responses (well, actually three, but give me a chance here).  The first is to be pompous, po-faced, ever so serious and lecture all and sundry on how there are far more serious concerns than one person placing a "private part of their anatomy" into another person.  To be fair, often this is the right response: the private lives of politicians are no business of ours unless it affects their ability to do their job.  Whatever someone else gets up to in their bedroom, arseless chaps, fur suit or dungeon is their affair, so long as the others involved are able to consent and have consented.

The second is to laugh, mock, carp and then laugh some more.  In this instance, having been informed that David Cameron may have merely shoved his ding-dong into the agape mouth of a decapitated suckling porcine as part of a initiation ceremony at Oxford to join the "debauched" Piers Gaveston club, it is the only appropriate response.  Our prime minister fucked a pig.  Not since it was revealed that John Major had been enjoying copious amounts of sexual activity with Edwina Currie has an entire country been so amused by such an improbable coming together of politician and err, inanimate object.  It doesn't matter whether it's true or not, it's that it's been reported at all, and that Cameron's team has had to deny that he ever had sexual relations with that sow.  Even in these days when Twitter is capable of sucking the joy out of the funniest joke ever told within hours, nothing is going to come close for a very long time to the sheer hilarity of learning that our leader, the man who considers himself the equal of Barack Obama, Angela Merkel and so on, porked a porker.  Ed Miliband was abused endlessly, is still being mocked by the most dull of dullards for eating a bacon sandwich in an non-approved manner; if Ed's face in those photographs is the opposite of someone enjoying themselves, you can but imagine the expression fixed on Dave's fizzog as the flash went off all those years ago.

If nothing else, this might just cause Rhiannon Lucy Cosslett to update her seminal article on why sex education must be compulsory and updated, as "seagulling", i.e., a bunch of lads yanking it in an cupboard and then leaping out and ejaculating in unison on their unfortunate victim had become a "thing" at universities.  Both, you have to suspect, are equally fictitious.  Both sound plausible enough for you to believe they might have, could have taken place.  I don't doubt there are people who have pleasured themselves with the severed heads of barnyard animals; mainly deranged farmers, but the odd yahoo and chinless wonder wouldn't surprise.  It could well have happened, but for photographic evidence also to exist?  Come now.  Dave and pals were embarrassed enough about the Bullingdon photos to persuade the owner to revoke the rights to their use, so you can imagine the lengths (ho ho) they would have gone to ensure that images of Cameron sticking it to a stuck pig were destroyed, never to be seen again.

You don't then need to read Toby Young declaring the entire thing to be nonsense to know in your heart of hearts it's not true.  Nonetheless, the third response to sex scandals is for those on the same side to rush around shouting "nothing to see here", when such a response is beyond self-defeating.  The Spectator has not one, not two, but three articles up either making light of the whole thing or saying it's crap, with Brendan O'Neill declaring that banging the corpses of dead animals is top bantz and anyone who disagrees is a killjoy moralist prude, Young asking if this is the best Ashcroft could do, as though the whole shagging a pig's head thing is an entirely normal student prank, and Ian Kirby, somehow most hilariously of all, claiming the story would have never got in the News of the World.  If anything it would have been too tasteful and well founded to have got in the World, where making things up about already incredible revelations, i.e. Max Mosley didn't just host S&M sex parties, they were Nazi S&M sex parties, was par for the course.

The protesting and chucking of toys out the pram at how it's not fair are too delicious.  It's as though we haven't just gone through a period where anything was fair game so long as it was directed at Labour as opposed to Tory politicians.  Ed Miliband's old man hated the country that gave him refuge and which he fought for despite not having to?  Fine and dandy.  Ed Miliband would stab the country in the back just like he did his own brother?  That's an entirely acceptable and by no means out of order accusation.  Jeremy Corbyn is a danger to our national security, economic security and the very security of your family?  How could he not be?  Corbyn's an anti-semite, pals around with terrorists, sympathises with Nazis and quite possibly wants to nationalise your cat?  Yeah, why not?  Just as a further example, Matthew d'Ancona amid his column in the Graun today on the Lib Dems describes Corbyn as "Khmer Beige".  Apart from not being funny, can Corbyn's politics be traced back even remotely to a Maoist sect that seized power and killed millions?  They can't, can they?

No, it's just won't do for accusations of hypocrisy to be thrown around on this occasion.  Of course the left is going to delight in this story, precisely because of all the shit that has been chucked at Labour and will continue to be.  Too bad, this time the boot's on the other foot.  If say this story had come from a lesser figure than Lord Ashcroft, from a muck-raking biographer known for his leftist political sympathies, then maybe there would just about be a point.  Nor does it make the slightest difference that this is clearly is about revenge on the part of Ashcroft.  Sorry Dave and everyone else, you've made your bed, now you must lie in it.  Along with the assorted heads of dead creatures if you like.

Of course, the real story isn't that Cameron shoved his however many inches of shrivelled love into the unwilling gob of a slaughtered oinker.  It's that once again his rich chums have dropped him in it.  Ashcroft is being obtuse to the nth degree with his claims that he was expecting to be hamsomely rewarded following the 2010 victory in return for his donations of millions and co-chairmanship of the party (PDF).  Giving him any sort of job in government just wasn't going to happen after it emerged that he hadn't, despite himself promising and William Hague doing the same, dispensed with his non-dom status.  If that is truly what all this is about, then Ashcroft has proved himself to be one of pettiest and most unpleasant people you'd ever have the misfortune of meeting.  All the money and respect in the world means nothing to such individuals without a further title or role.  Janice Turner of the Times tweeted to say "the most obscene bit of the pig-fuckery is this is what a billionaire non dom does to democracy when denied political power".  Well, yes and no.  This is nothing compared to the obscenity that was taking Andy Coulson into Downing Street, or the email and texts between Rebekah Brooks and Cameron, with Brooks declaring that "professionally we're definitely in this together".  Rupert Murdoch is not so much as a British citizen, and yet no prime minister until the hacking scandal could risk snubbing him.

For reasons known only to themselves, both the Mail and Ashcroft have declared war on Cameron.  Whether their aim is to get George Osborne into Downing Street as soon as, despite how the chancellor surely doesn't want the job until at least Dave has succeeded in keeping us in Europe, or that it's Paul Dacre has gotten bored with the sycophancy of recent times, it doesn't matter at this precise moment.  What does matter is everyone right now is laughing at Dave and the Tories, and that it makes clear what comes after the "renegotiation" is going to be nothing compared to this.  Anyone confidently predicting years of Tory power when the biggest reckoning in the party's recent history is fast approaching needs to think again.  Pig loving is just the beginning.

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